Ripples
by b3cks
Summary: Drabble series. After Eowyn marries Faramir, she finds herself influencing and being influenced by the women of Gondor. The women of Gondor have never met someone so...eccentric.
1. Hair

Disclaimer: Not Tolkien, not making money. This is purely for my own entertainment.

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><p>It started with Lothiriel. Eowyn's cousin and soon-to-be-sister-in-law was born with an independent personality, but a firm upbringing, indoctrination in proper court mannerisms, and a desire to please her father had successfully tempered this tendency.<p>

Since she had been promised to marry Eomer King of Rohan, Lothiriel often sought out Eowyn's company. Although they were as opposite as _Arien_ and _Ithil_, they became close. The fallout of this feminine alliance should have been foreseen by Lothiriel's family. It was not.

Lothiriel looked into the eyes of her mirror reflection. She distrusted the mirror-Lothiriel; the serene reflection staring back could not be hers. It was the evening of her official betrothal ceremony and she was terrified.

She was not worried because she had never seen her fiancé. She was worried because he had never seen her.

Gondorian noblewomen were supposed to be lovely, elegant, and petite. They were supposed to have straight brown hair, sweet figures, and easy smiles. They were also charming, flirtatious, and friendly. Lothiriel was tall, curvaceous, and somber. She had wild black hair, an intense gaze, and a smirk. She was quiet when she was not forthright. If she was not a princess she would have been considered plain.

As Meril wrestled her long, black hair, Lothoriel contemplated the conversation she had with Eowyn during their morning ride.

"_My brother will be here by this afternoon. His messengers brought word early this morning."_

"_Tonight I will be betrothed," Lothiriel said quietly._

_Eowyn laughed, "You sound despondent! Surely there is no need." She sobered when she saw the worry in her friend's naturally tranquil face. "Tell me. What is troubling you?"_

"_I wish…" Lothiriel paused, trying to communicate what was on her mind. "I wish I was beautiful." The statement surprised her. This wish had lingered in her unconscious since she was a young girl but, she had never admitted it, not even to herself. _

_Eowyn regarded her friend intently, looking her over as if she was appraising a colt for sale. "You will most likely ignore my assessment of your appearance, so I will simply tell you this: You are not an insipid, Gondorian belle whose beauty goes no deeper than a flawless complexion. Be yourself Thiri. My brother will love you for it."_

Lothiriel watched as Meril fought to pin up her curly hair. It was a losing fight.

_Be yourself Thiri. _

"Meril, you can leave now. I will finish my hair," Lothiriel turned to face her frustrated lady's maid.

"Are you certain my lady?" The girl asked, eyeing her hair skeptically.

"I am. Please inform my father I will be with him directly."

Meril curtseyed, "Yes, my lady."

Lothiriel gazed at herself in the mirror once more.

_Be yourself_.

She reached up to her hair and undid the few pins Meril had managed to place. She tied a ribbon to keep it out of her face and let the rest hang down her back.

She smirked at her reflection. She would cause a scandal with her unbraided, unpinned, uncoiffed hair. It was time to meet her husband-to-be. She walked toward the hall which led into the grand hall. Before she was halfway there, her father detained her.

"Lothiriel! What have you done to your hair?" Although he whispered, Lothiriel could tell he was anxious.

"I am wearing it differently this evening," Lothiriel replied calmly.

"Differently! Go back to your room and put it up. I will not have my daughter looking like a peasant, especially not tonight!" Prince Imrahil said, sounding more frantic than before.

"I like my hair this way," Lothiriel looked over her father's shoulder and saw King Elessar walking toward them. "Besides, I do not have time." The dismay on her father's face made her feel slightly guilty, but Lothiriel ignored the feeling.

"Imrahil," the king acknowledged him. "Come, my lady. Someone is eager to meet you." King Elessar escorted them into the hall. Lothiriel clutched her flustered father's arm.

Lothiriel saw Eowyn taking happily with Faramir and another man. The other man was tall, had long blond hair, and a serious expression. His brown eyed gaze was intense. This was Eowyn's brother; the king of Rohan; Lothiriel's future husband.

King Elessar and Prince Imrahil led Lothiriel toward the trio. Introductions were made and greetings exchanged, but Lothiriel barely noticed. She was, however, able to manage a deep curtsey at the proper time.

"My lady," Eomer returned her bow. Eomer and Lothiriel stared at one another for an awkward moment.

"You indeed are beautiful," He said sincerely, smiling as he extended his hand.

For a moment, Lothiriel froze, and then she comprehended his words.

Lothiriel took hEomer's hand and beamed.

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><p>Ithil- maia (god) who carries the moon<p>

Arien- maia who carries the sun

Thanks for reading. There will be more chapters soon.

Reviews and critiques make me feel warm and fuzzy.


	2. Boots

I still do not own Lord of the Rings, and I am still not making money from this story.

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><p>The boots were an accident.<p>

Eowyn bolted down the hall toward the chambers she shared with her husband. She had spent a glorious afternoon racing her mare across the Pelennor fields. Now she was racing because she was late.

Tonight was a state dinner and Faramir was required to attend. Unfortunately, this meant that she also needed to be present. And punctual.

She burst through the door and ran into Faramir. "Eowyn! We must hurry. We need to leave…now, in fact." He called out to her as she hurried to her room to change.

"I know, my love, I am sorry. I lost track of time," Eowyn said, yanking her riding habit over her head.

She undressed hastily, and Faramir handed her a clean gown. She cursed as she fumbled with the lacing.

"Let me help you," he said and stepped forward to help.

"I am a disgrace as the steward's wife," she said.

"Nonsense," Faramir finished her lacing and moved to face his wife. "You are perfect," he said tenderly.

Eowyn smiled at her husband. "We should be going."

"Indeed."

They made it to the dinner within the boundaries of 'fashionably late.' The mingling began after the meal. Eowyn hated mingling. She could out-spar, outwit, and occasionally outdrink any common soldier, but when it came to ladies of the court, Ewoyn was outclassed.

"Lady Eowyn! My dear, how are you?" Eowyn flinched before she turned to face the voice. Lady Itaril was an expert in the arts of fashion, flirting, and gossip. She and Eowyn hid their mutual disgust for each other behind a façade of pleasant acquaintance.

"I am well Lady Itaril, thank you for asking."

Before Eowyn could conjure an excuse to leave, Itaril interrupted, "I must say, you do have your own sense of style. I would never be bold enough to wear what you are wearing, especially to a state dinner!" The noblewomen exclaimed.

Eowyn, annoyed at her own trepidation, looked over her outfit. Although she had dressed in a hurry, she knew she was at least presentable. She took stock: hair tied away from her face, evening gown, she probably smelled like a horse but that was not unusual, shoes…Shoes! Amidst getting dressed, Eowyn had neglected to change out of her leather riding boots. They definitely did not match her elegant dress.

A husky voice interrupted Eowyn's chagrin and Itaril's glee.

"Indeed Eowyn! Your boots are magnificent. My cobbler is still working on my own pair, or else I would have matched you," Queen Arwen gracefully entered the conversation.

Itaril gaped. Eowyn raised an eyebrow. "Indeed?"

"Of course! Those boots make a strong statement: elegant and sensible at the same time. I quite like it." The queen smiled at the two women, then glided away.

At the next state dinner, Queen Arwen wore her new riding boots. Lady Itaril was also wearing boots, as were several other women of the court.

Faramir smiled at his wife, "You are a trend setter my love."

"I suppose so," said Eowyn, shocked by the realization.

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><p>Thanks for reading!<p>

Critiques and comments are welcome.


	3. Blades

I should be out making money, instead I am writing fanfiction.

AN: I apologize for the long break between chapters. My muse died right before the chapter was done.

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><p>When Arwen chose to marry Aragorn, she knew she would eventually suffer heartrending sorrow. She had not counted on basic loneliness. She was the only elf in Minas Tirith when Legolas or her brothers were not visiting.<p>

The people of the court were warm and welcoming, but they were in awe of her. They sometimes found her eccentric. Arwen had discovered this when she had tried to practice her swordplay on the guards' training grounds.

Arwen learned to fight with a sword when she was young; most elven children did. After her mother was kidnapped by orcs, Arwen's training became more deliberate. She was tutored by her father, her brothers, and Lord Glorfindel. She became exceedingly adept and would often spar with the Rivendell guard.

In Gondor, her sparring partners were limited. Although she enjoyed dueling her husband, Lord Glorfindel had always encouraged her to fight with more than one partner. That is why she found herself on the training fields.

She found the captain of her husband's bodyguard and approached him. He looked shocked to see the Queen of Gondor wearing a tunic over trousers and carrying an elven sword.

"Captain Armaethor," Arwen addressed him.

"My Lady," said the bemused captain, bowing. "How may I be of service?"

"I wanted to enquire as to whether any of your guards would wish to spar with me. I regret it has been too long since I have last practiced my swordplay."

"Uh…" the captain said. Armaethor debated between refusing the Queen's request and informing the King as to why his wife was missing a limb.

Arwen sighed when she realized the captain's quandary. Gondorian noblewomen did not practice swordplay. She silently chided herself for her impulsiveness and graciously rescued the captain.

"I beg your pardon, Captain Armaethor. I should have realized you did not have time to indulge me. I shall seek you out another time."

Armaethor bowed his head and tried to hide his relief. "Yes, my lady. Another time."

Disappointed, Arwen made her way back to her chamber.

The next morning, Arwen woke before the dawn. She would run through her swordsmanship forms. It was not as pleasant as fighting another person, but it was better than not practicing at all.

The training field was not deserted as she had planned. A lone figure was drilling with a broadsword and a round shield. Arwen considered leaving, but she paused when she recognized the figure. It was Lady Eowyn, the Steward's wife.

Arwen stopped to watch. Unlike elven swordsmanship which was graceful and elegant, Eowyn's fighting style was swift, brutal, and efficient. Watching the shieldmaiden practice, Arwen was not surprised that Eowyn had bested the Witch King. She was skillful with a sword.

"You have excellent form" Arwen commented.

Eowyn spun around to look at her queen. She scrutinized Arwen, measuring her words. "Are you patronizing me?" She asked blatantly. Lady Eowyn, unlike her Gondorian counterparts, did not believe in the use of tact.

"I would not dare," Arwen smiled.

"I beg your pardon. I am tired of the lofty glances of decorative guards. Apparently, the rabbits in Gondor are more capable of defending themselves than the women." Eowyn said, obviously disgusted. Arwen tried to hide a smile.

"I find myself without a suitable sparring partner, Lady Eowyn. Would you care to join me in a round?" Arwen inquired.

""You?" Eowyn said, surprised. She looked at the Queen of Gondor, elegant hand easily resting on her exquisite sword, and grinned. If Arwen was a capable swordswoman, Eowyn would finally have some good practice. If the Queen was less than capable… Eowyn would enjoy the opportunity of trouncing Aragorn's wife. "If you wish, Your Highness." Eowyn made a bow which was more natural than any of her curtsies.

Eowyn laid aside her shield, and the two ladies saluted each other and took their places. They circled each other, matching their footwork, waiting for the other to strike. Eowyn attacked first, hard, and with a fierce battle cry. Arwen's training overcame her surprise and she parried Eowyn's stroke. The two ladies, as they soon discovered, were well matched; their opposite fighting styles complemented each other.

After several minutes, Arwen's hundreds of years of elite training finally won out. Eowyn chopped her sword towards Arwen's shoulder. She threw in every ounce of strength and momentum she could. Arwen slid her blade across Eowyn's sword, which threw her opponent off-balance. Eowyn stumbled. Before she could regain her footing, Arwen's sword was at her neck.

Eowyn lowered her sword, conceding the match. Arwen dropped hers as well.

"Well done my lady," panted Eowyn, "I have never faced such a skilled opponent."

"It has been a long time since I have been in such an intense match," Arwen said, walking over to the water barrel. She stopped when she saw two men standing there.

Lord Faramir's chin appeared to have been resting open for a while. King Aragorn did not try to hide the grin on his face.

Arwen gracefully curtsied to the two shocked men. Eowyn made another bow

"How was your sparring practice?" Aragorn inquired.

Eowyn smirked at her queen. "If Lady Itaril's sewing luncheon is attacked by a horde of rabbits, we now know there are at least two of us who can who can ward them off."

The two men attempted to hide their confusion.

Arwen laughed merrily. Perhaps she was not as alone as she had believed.


End file.
